


Within a Wisp of Your Life

by Rueitae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Also Knight Pidge, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Hostage Situations, Knight Lance (Voltron), Life Draining, Lions are magic swords, Loyalty, Magic, Noble Pidge, Possession, as a form of torture, one sided fight, restrained by magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rueitae/pseuds/Rueitae
Summary: As one of the Knights of Voltron, wielder of the magic sword, Blue, Lance is doing all he can to stall the evil Ventos so that Pidge can follow through on her plan to defeat him once and for all.Even as skilled as he is, Lance can only hold out so long against the destroyer of worlds himself.





	Within a Wisp of Your Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RosieClark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieClark/gifts).

> A gift for [RosieClark](https://rosieclark.tumblr.com/)! for the Langstron Exchange 2019!

The ground hits Lance hard, and he cries out in pain as the uneven stone floor cuts into the exposed skin on his face. His helmet lay somewhere far away, long since lost somewhere on the battlefield.  


He rolls, shoulder over shoulder until finally coming to rest on his stomach, bracing his forearms against the floor. Lance breathes hard, exhausted. The dirt stirred up by his fall makes him cough.. It springs his, likely, broken ribs to cut his innards like a sharp knife. Bruises plague him all over under his armor and he wants nothing more than to lie down and rest and ease his scrambled mind. But he cannot, not yet. Not when his enemy seeks to take everything he loves.

Slowly, he places one palm on smooth stone and begins to lift himself. A shooting pain hits his forehead as he does, and if he hadn’t been familiar with these awful headaches he’d have assumed his assailant struck him again. But death blow or magic it was not - he knew what those felt like too.  


Lance forces himself to his knees. His arms wobble, struggling under his own weight, and he falters, leaning to his side. His shoulder makes contact into more stone - but even with his body and mind in shambles he can tell he’s not lying on the floor..

With a gasp, Lance realizes he’s on the other side of this ancient temple. He sits at the feet of and leans against the stone altar; the very one he’s trying to avoid. Getting out of here is imperative; he hasn’t given Pidge nearly enough time to complete her spell. Fists clenched, his resolve returns to him.

Wait. Blue! Where is his sword?

“Looking for this, brave knight?”

Ventos; the greatest of the dark mages, scourge of the Outlands, destroyer of realities…

And Pidge’s great-great-great- _ really _ great grandfather.

The man (Beast? Immortal? It was difficult to know what was truth or fiction with a living legend.)  _ floats _ slowly towards him, pinning him with a predatory gaze. He shrouds himself in a tailored dark robes with only his scarred face to show; the picture of villainy itself.  


Hovering above his outstretched and thin gloved hands - Blue, one of only five weapons capable of inflicting damage against the ancient magic Ventos wields.  _ Lance’s _ sword.  


A pale-blue glow surround Blue, flickering inconsistently. Lance can feel it in his soul, Blue is just as exhausted as he.  


“A marvelous weapon,” Ventos remarks casually. Lance’s heart sinks, he sounds as if he’s not wasted breath at all on their battle.  


With a twist of his wrist the sword rotates in mid-air. “Objectively, of course,” Ventos says. “The Voltron swords are persistent, if anything. But I have no more use for interruptions.”

A simple flick of the wrist and Blue speeds downwards, embedding into the floor with such force that it shakes the ground. All that remains is the very tip of the hilt, hardly enough to grip and attempt to dislodge it.  


Lance wraps an arm around his stomach while using the other to brace against the floor as he lurches forward, his last meal now on the floor before him. A hole throbs painfully in his heart where Blue’s presence once gave him power and warmth. It’s been so long; he can’t remember life without the comforting pulses of energy from his sword.  


“Ohhh, poor knight,” Ventos says, falsely sympathetic. The air grows cold as he approaches. “You have fought valiantly, but your defeat was inevitable.”

Lance rolls back. His shoulder hits the altar and he swallows deeply, eyes closed as if to ignore the taste of his own vomit, gathering what is left of his strength. He may be down a magic sword, but for this battle, he still has a weapon at his disposal.  


“What good is this world for you anyway?” Lance snaps, glaring as if the action alone would cause Ventos to fall over dead. “Surely with being immortal and powerful you have everything you could ever want?”

Ventos chuckles darkly. “Mortals are short sighted.”

Lance gasps as wispy apparitions fill the immediate area. They mill about in a ghostly marketplace, trading wares as children play with a ball in the street.

“Look at them going about their meaningless lives, the same dull routine day after day; many of them struggling to survive.” Several of the illusions, mostly those between market stalls, turn a dark purple. “And a good many others ignore their plight.” More figures in fancier dress turn the same dark purple as they walk the streets. Lance yelps as one walks through him.  


“Their hearts are hard, their quintessence poisoning the earth; they do not deserve this world.” He sighs, falsely sad. “But I need more power, I must take unto myself the most pure quintessence from strong individuals. It falls to me to find them.”

Lance tchs. “How noble,” he says dryly.  


“Though you serve the right noble house, I can hardly expect a simple knight to understand the importance of what I do,” Ventos chides.  


Lance growls at the slight, blood simmering to a boil. “I serve the Holts; you’re just a distant blight in the family history.” A smirk tugs on his face, delighted to throw an insult back at this all powerful being. “They care more about the flowers in the garden than your ambitions.”

The dark mage merely smiles unpleasantly, sending a shiver down Lance’s spine. That… hadn’t gone exactly how he’d planned.

“And that flower would be you, Lance of Blue Beach? Tell me; where is my dear granddaughter?”

All sense of soreness and pain departs to the back of his mind and no longer is he tired. Lance springs from his spot and launches himself at the most powerful being in the world, with one a curled fist as a weapon. He swings, and when Ventos dodges Lance stumbles forward - though he hardly cares as he turns to face his foe, shoulders rigid in anger.

“You do  _ not  _ get to call her that!” Lance rages.  


Ventos laughs, one that echoes off the walls of the empty temple. “Such life!” The dark mage’s eyes stare him down hungrily, arm outstretched. “Your quintessence will be a feast!”  


Lance lunges out of the way of a lightning bolt, heart beating so fast it throbs in his ears. Achy limbs move on their own, muscles reacting more out of survival instinct than clear thought. His fingers stretch out, tips nearly on the hilt of his beloved sword…

A soft purple glow fills his vision and though he has no flying capability, he hovers agonizingly close to Blue. He strains, but his fingers - his body - refuses to move on its own.  


Dark magic.  


“You won’t get away with this!” Lance growls. His scowl of defiance dissolves when his body is tugged backwards; his heart pounding harder and harder as Blue falls out of reach.  


Ventos rounds him, his hand cupped upright as if he holds the invisible strings keeping Lance in the air.  


“I have seen you with my granddaughter,” he says as Lance is dragged helplessly further from Blue… and though he can’t see, it cannot be anywhere but the altar. “How precious the two of you are - walking in the gardens and holding hands as if you are sweet on each other.”

Lance’s heart freezes. How long has this madman been watching them?  


“It’s a pity a descendant of mine wields the Green of Voltron; but no matter. She will join with me like so many of our kin before her. Her body will make the perfect vessel for my magic once this one is destroyed.”

A sharp laugh escapes despite his captivity. “Pidge would never join you. She’s way more clever than you are.” And beautiful and funny and loving and loyal, also far kinder than he deserved after initially butting heads back when he’d been a squire in her father’s court.  


His vision blurs when his body is sharply turned. A cool, hard surface greets his back above the main floor and glowing purple cords of energy pin his arms to his sides and his body to the stone. The air feels thick like tar.

The altar.  


Ventos waves a hand over him. An ethereal aura surrounds him, a thick white, with droplets of blue hovering around in it.  


Ventos breathes in deep, a contented smile upon his face, and ushers a handful of the aura and blue droplets into his nostrils.  


Lance’s eyes close, the feeling of sleep pouncing on him suddenly amidst the adrenaline of battle. That simple realization is enough to startle him to full awareness. This aura is his quintessence and Ventos is taking it.  


The man is taking his life force and he can’t do a thing about it.  


“Ahh,” Ventos sighs. “Delightful flavor, full of humor, love, and idealism. Oh?” he wonders, as if a connoisseur. “A hint insecurity? Wonderful.” Lance winces as Ventos takes another whiff as if he tastes fine wine. “There’s that bravery and selflessness.”

Lance squirms, testing the limits of his bonds. With each breath, more quintessence leaves his body as does his strength. Never has he felt so utterly exposed, he may as well be naked. He closes his eyes, trying to calm his nerves though he Ventos could take his life at any moment.  


“I digress, I have uses for you before I can take all of your quintessence. Tell me, where is my granddaughter?”

He still has a job to do.

“I’ll  _ never _ tell you,” Lance spits.

The saliva lands lamely on his own cheek.

Ventos seems all too pleased at his pathetic effort. “Your loyalty is commendable,” says the scourge of the Outlands as he gently glides a gloved finger down Lance’s cheek, wiping the spit in a creepy sense of paternal care. “Though you are misguided by infatuation. No child of my line would choose a common-born knight over the power and knowledge of the universe.”

Lance knows he’s wrong. He knows Pidge will fight tooth and nail for her loved ones; it’s Ventos who has underestimated her.

But he has to keep the conversation going - he has to buy Pidge more time.

“Well,” he ponders aloud, breath labored with each word. He scrutinizes Ventros’s features and smiles, eager for his own punchline. “I suppose she does share  _ some  _ relation to you.”

Ventros smirks cruelly. “You continue to surprise me with your cooperation, child. Go on. If I like what I hear, perhaps I can spare your life to live at her side.”

The snarky smile dissolves from his face and a sick queasiness stirs in Lance’s stomach. The thought of being in Pidge’s service while she turns into a power-hungry tyrant would break his heart.  


Likely Ventos’s point.

All the more reason to prevent Pidge from becoming someone even she can’t recognize.  


So he makes his gulp of fear as shallow as possible, “It’s clearly the eyebrows. It took me a while to figure out because her’s are actually  _ cute _ when she gets cocky.”

Ventros’s face turns dark, nose upturned and lips snarling. “Petulant child,” he says, fingers outstretched and—

Lance screams. Magical lightning courses through his body as every muscle clenches and burns. It lasts only a moment, but the pain lingers, every breath a stab against his lungs. The residual heat is itchy and continues to burn.  


A clammy hand grabs his throat, squeezing as Lance chokes desperately for breath.  


Ventros leans over and whispers harshly in his ear. “I will greatly enjoy sucking your life away as slowly and painfully as possible.”

“You’ll leave him alone!”  


It’s the voice Lance so longs to hear, but dreads at this moment. Pidge, Lady Holt of the Green Meadow - his liege of sword and heart. She stands atop the grand staircase of an entrance to the underground temple, her green tunic and armor just as beautiful as a ballroom gown. Her sword is sheathed, but she holds aloft a much more dangerous weapon.

Ventros turns from him, placing a viled hand over his missing heart. “Katie,” he purrs. “It is a pleasure to have you join me. I’ll give you the boy and power unlimited once you take up your sword for my cause.”  


Even from this distance, Lance can feel the rage building beneath her skin. “I would never,” she declares. “Return to the dark world from whence you came, or I will destroy you now forever!”  


She lights the candle before her.  


Ventros shivers. “My dear, sweet child, surely you would not do such a thing to family…”

“You are not my family,” Pidge growls. Slowly, she descends the staircase, letting wax drip down the side of the candle. “My family is my mother and father and my brother, who care and support me.”  


The dark being drops to the ground, weakened as the candle burns, his hand outstretched. “Ka--”

“My  _ family _ ,” Pidge continues as she steps off onto the ground floor, “are the Voltron Knights, and all my friends at the Castle.”  


She stands before Ventros, who coughs and wheezes, the candle halfway melted. In one quick, fluid motions she draws her sword, Green, and points it at him. “You may be blood, but you will never be family.”

Lance’s heart swells with pride. That’s the Pidge he loves.  


The triumph is short lived. Ventros cackles through his difficult breath. “Foolish children. If I cannot have what I want, neither can you!”  


It takes Lance too long to realize that  _ he _ is the want in Pidge’s case.  


His quintessence reappears above his body, exposed for all to see. Like a punch to the gut Lance feels his life hanging by a thread, tired and slow of breath.

“Extinguish the candle if you want him to live,” Ventros threatens, his shaky form blurring between a man ready for a fancy party and a disembodied ball of black smoke.  


Moving his head to face Pidge is a difficult task and he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep when he’s done it. He forces them to stay open, pleading with her, “Don’t, Pidge. Fin--” Deep breath. “Finish hi--”  


Ventros breathes in his quintessence. It thins him, like wrung out wet towel.  


“St-stop!” Pidge cries desperately. Lance hates that look in her eyes, the one without hope. She sets the candle down and backs away. “It’s all yours, just don’t kill him.”

In a heart-stopping moment, Ventros glides as if a ghost and extinguishes the candle. He slithers around Pidge, draping his hands over her shoulders. Lance shakes in rage, quelled only by how utterly spent he feels.  


Ventros leans in and whispers in her ear, “That’s a good girl. Now, the damnable sword.”  


Pidge is paralyzed, anger and frustration written on her face as Ventros slides his hand down her arm and twists her wrist, forcing her to drop Green. The sword clatters to the stone floor, the sound reverberating across the empty temple.  


Tears swell in his eyes. Even if he survives this, he’ll live in suffering, watching the love of his life carry out the will of an evil menace. He doesn’t want that for Pidge. Though she can harden her heart on the surface and make it believable for those who don’t know her, the pain will be unbearable for her. She’ll die on the inside well before she draws her last breath.  


“So much for the famed Knights of Voltron,” Ventros sneers. Lance winces in disgust as he gently strokes Pidge’s cheek. “Now, child, take part of my soul.” A black wisp toys at his fingertips and floats deceptively harmlessly towards Pidge’s nose. She tries to hold her breath, but a pinch of her arm from Ventros forces her to inhale, sucking the wisp into her.  


“Let it fester,” Ventros says as Pidge bites her lip, face scrunched together in pain. “Let it help you on the path to become a most perfect being like your forefathers.”  


Pidge opens her eyes with a start. They are pitch black. Lance lets out a whine.  


They’ve lost.  


Ventros lets out an uproarious laugh. Lance’s quintessence falls back into his body and though he feels his energy return, he can’t find the will to do much but glare, his face already stained with tears.  


“You won’t get away with this,” is all he manages to say.  


It turns Ventros’s attention back onto him, the evil grin seemingly permanently plastered to his face. “Your defiance is amusing,” he muses. “I’ll keep you alive for a bit longer, for an experiment. We will see if Katie remembers how much you mean to her. Love can be so easily warped for all the  _ wrong  _ purposes.”  


His cackling laughter makes Lance sick, and renews his determination. Though fruitless, he struggles against his magical bonds.  


“You can struggle all you’d like, boy. Those chains are constructs directly tied to my power, they will not break.”

And yet...

The chain by his shoulder snaps and the shackles dissolve. Lance sucks in an astonished breath. How?

“What?” Ventros gasps. “Where are you finding such strength?” He summons a dark sphere, launching it directly at him.

Lance rolls off the altar, body screaming in pain. The magic blasts off slivers of stone that rain down on his head.  


“It is you who needs to reevaluate his strength!”  


Allura’s voice carries down from the top of the temple. At her side are the other Voltron Knights. In her hand, a candle nearly spent.  


Lance smirks as he realizes this was the plan all along. Pidge came only to stall for more time - with a  _ decoy  _ candle. Allura drops the candle, the remainder of the wax glittering in the waning fire.  


“No! Curse you all a thousand fold!” Ventros screams. His body stretches, thinning to the width of a quill before poofing out of existence.  


They are free.  


Pidge gasps and stumbles forward, her eyes returning to their beautiful amber color. Though he’s still sore, Lance reaches on his knees to catch her in his arms.  


“You are so brilliant,” he says into her hair. “I was so scared for you.”  


Pidge chuckles, returning his hug. “What, you didn’t think I could do it?”

Lance bites his lip. “That’s… that’s not it. I saw your eyes turn black as night. I couldn’t feel Blue or the other swords. I thought I’d have to watch you destroy all you love. That’s not  _ you, _ Pidge.”

She plants a gentle kiss against the side of his mouth, stroking the hair behind his ears reverently. “I know. I’m sorry to worry you, Lance. I couldn’t risk letting him on to the plan.”

“I know,” he echoes, kissing her lips lightly. “I’m not angry, just relieved and glad you’re in my arms now.”

The sides of her mouth curl up, eyes shining with delight. “Me too.” She settles her head into his chest. “Let’s go home, Lance. For real this time.”

Lance holds her tighter, heart fluttering with joy. “Your wish is my command, my Lady.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://rueitae.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
